


Waltz

by humanbean



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanbean/pseuds/humanbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelica and Lafayette dance at the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz

Somehow Angelica has managed to escape mostly undisturbed from the tables, having fulfilled only the barest minimum of the socialisation to which she is duty bound. She’s exhausted, to be frank- the maid of honour seems to have more work to do than the best man, the bride and the groom combined, and- well, her tendency to micromanage doesn’t do her any favours either.

So for now, Angelica stands to the side and watches. Eliza’s happiness is usually enough to sustain her, and that remains the case, but today it also reminds her far too acutely of what she doesn’t have and may never attain for herself.

Still. Eliza is the bride. Today is her day.

And what a beautiful bride she is.

Angelica does notice, peripherally, the Marquis approaching, but she doesn’t pay him any mind until he’s right in front of her. He has many other friends at the wedding, after all; there’s no reason to assume he’s seeking her out specifically. Anyway, her mind is elsewhere.

“Mademoiselle Angelica?” Now she looks at him. This is simply a nod to formality, although his tone indicates all at once an apology for the intrusion, a request for her time, perhaps a small note of concern, and the affectionate deference he always holds for the Schuyler girls. Angelica offers him her hand- another nod to formality- and he kisses it.

“Would you grant me the honour of a dance with you tonight? Your beauty is wasted on this wall.”

He smiles like the sun, and Angelica thinks, not for the first time, that this is a boy who knows exactly what he’s doing. She holds the request in her mouth for a second, testing it out. She’s not much in a dancing mood, but she knows how lonely he has been, leaving all he knew behind in France to come and fight in this revolution. He has a wife, Angelica knows, and he loves her, but she’s thousands of miles away and Angelica can’t imagine how _lonely_ he must be.

Surely, she can’t deny him a chance to enjoy himself like everyone else is?

(She spares another glance towards Mulligan and Peggy, twirling around on the dance floor. She’s not sure Peggy isn’t a little inebriated, and she’s not sure Mulligan’s intentions are quite as pure as she’d like. But never mind that; for tonight she can perhaps let someone else worry about Peggy.)

Gilbert is still smiling at her; she’s not been silent long enough to alarm him yet. His smile is wide open and trusting in a way that brings Eliza to mind, and Angelica looks him up and down and realises that he’s not her type. He’s too happy, too full of light- she’s not sure if he’s not on her level yet or she’s not on his.

She’s acutely aware that this is a good thing- she can’t stand to fall in love again, and certainly not with another man she can’t have- and yet, she still hesitates for another second. What is he to her exactly?

He’s not a threat, or a temptation, or an annoyance.

He’s….

A friend?

Does she even have those?

Angelica returns his smile, and takes the hand he offers.  “It would be a pleasure, _Monsieur Gilbert_.”

Gilbert is a perfect gentleman, despite what his friends say about him; he leads her onto the dance floor and holds her at a polite, comfortable distance. They fall into an easy three step that’s been in Angelica’s bones since she was a child, and she lets her mind wander, staring off over Gilbert’s shoulder rather than at his face.

 “Your toast was beautiful.” he offers by way of small talk, after a moment or two of silence.

Angelica doesn’t turn her head. “My toast was basic.” she says, absently. She could have given it more, and she knows she could have given it more, but she had to keep her emotional distance. It’s the only thing that’s getting her through the day. She feels more than hears a little huff of a laugh against her face.

“Angelica,” he says, “let me compliment you on something.”

She looks at him, for a second, and she smiles, a little.

“I put a lot of work into planning all this.” she offers.

“And it’s beautiful.” he says. Angelica tries not to reflect on his limited supply of adjectives; it’s not kind. “You did an excellent job.”

And of course she’d done an excellent job; she had to. Eliza only gets one wedding day, and she deserves nothing less than the absolute best Angelica can give. She can at least do that for her.

“Thank you.” Angelica says, and leaves it at that.

For a couple more seconds, it’s only the steady rhythm of the music and their own footsteps. Angelica doesn’t look at him; she knows he’s watching her closely.

“Hey.” he whispers eventually. “Are you alright, _chérie?_ ” It’s barely a whisper, and Angelica is expecting it, but  between the noise of the band and her own reverie, it takes her a second to register the question, let alone respond.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” _One, two, three, one two, three…_ “You simply seem, how you say… Off your game, as John would call it.”

“Oh.” _One, two, three, one, two, three…_ “Gilbert?”

“Yes, _chérie?”_

“Tell me about your wife.”

The request startles him- he smiles before he can stop himself and then ducks his head against her shoulder. Angelica can feel his blush on her neck.

“My Adrienne and me,” he says, “we met when I was 14 and she was 12. I think she wore a green dress- green looks very good on her. She was a little spitfire, even back then. I am not sure she liked me very much, that first time, but right away I was… um, I cannot say it in English.”

Angelica smiles. “In French?”

“ _Entiché_.”

“The word you’re looking for is _smitten_.”

“Smitten.” he repeats, testing it out on his tongue, and all Angelica can think is ‘helpless’. So like her Eliza, this boy.

“How does she feel about you being here?” Angelica asks, “If you don’t mind me asking. So far away, dancing at weddings with strange women.”

Gilbert shrugs. “She wishes I would come home, of course.” he admits, and his eyes are distant. It’s clear that Adrienne isn’t the only one who wishes they were together. “We have two little children- daughters- in France; they grow bigger every day, and I am missing it. She writes every day, and I as often as I can. But she understands why I have to be here. And my Adrienne, she is strong. She wants me there but she has never _needed_ me for anything. I regret that she has had to be alone for so long, but my Adrienne is capable. We miss each other dearly, but she will be fine.”

He glows when he speaks of her. Angelica isn’t sure she’s ever seen that much affection shine out of his face before- out of _anyone’s_ face before.

 “You love her very much, don’t you?”

The little smile on his face widens. He nods, and it takes him a moment to nod but the hesitation clearly isn’t born of doubt. Looking at his face, he seems more sure than Angelica has ever felt of anything in her whole life.

 “She is my light.” he says.

Suddenly, without being exactly sure why, Angelica feels an urge to bury her face in his shoulder.

Or, okay, that’s a lie. She knows exactly why. She just doesn’t want to confront it.

Angelica is very, _very_ good at not letting on how she feels, but apparently she’s slipped this time, because Gilbert picks up on it. Suddenly he’s pulled her very close and they’re not really dancing anymore; he’s just holding her and they’re swaying. Around them, the other couples keep whirling around in their waltz.

_One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three…_

“Do you know something, _chérie_?” he says, low, steady, right into her ear like it’s a secret they’re sharing between them. “Any man would be _lucky_ to get to love you in the way that you deserve.”

She lets go, just for a second, lets herself hide herself in his shoulder and in the thought that _someone, somewhere_ , thinks everything is going to be okay for her.

_One, two, three, one, two, three…_

The moment passes.

Angelica puts back on her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> The Lafayette I wrote is probably a little more my impression of historical Lafayette than the one in the musical. I mean historical Lafayette was a puppy, honestly.


End file.
